It has been well said of the Genome, by those who know him well--that if there is one quality that distinguishes him more than any other, it is that he keeps the upper lip stiff and makes the best of things. In words of my own construction--I don't eat pine needles. (It's a longish story and we don't have time to go into it now.)
Down among the wines and spirits, as I've so often heard Ms. Wonder describe it. And not only the heart but the head too. I was suffering from a distinct apprehension for an inclement future. And I'll tell you why I was suffering from a distinct A for an inclement F. Ms. Wonder and I had left the old metropolis of Durham and traveled to Crystal Cove, on the Crescent Coast near Wilmington.
I've received numerous tweets asking why, given the option, I avoid the Cove. After all, as one follower describes it, "It's a picturesque village, surrounded by manicured fields, apple orchards, and with a willow-fringed river running through it."
And to that I would add, it is the home of my favorite cousin, Gwendolen, and my most amazing god-niece, Lucy Lupe Lightfoot Mankiller, the company of both never tiring. And so you ask again, Why? It's the question Ms. Wonder asked as we drove the bridge leading to the River Walk and our meeting with the Inner Circle.
"Why do you dislike the Crystal Cove? It seems a perfectly pleasing place to me."
"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "Perfectly pleasing is it?" You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and, having done so, I thought better of it. This Wonder, who has done so much for me, deserves the softer touch and so I modified the tone.
"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a plethora of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in Crystal Cove."
I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.
"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."
"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"
"Oh, well, I'm not sure. It's something I heard once and it impressed me considerably. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them, and it's annoying."
"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines were nonsense when he wrote them."
"What! I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."
"I'm not just supposed to be a writer. I am a writer," I said with no little energy. "And you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving anything that came to mind into those plays."
She looked at me with large eyes and...no. What is it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.
She opened her mouth to say something but the words didn't come and so I continued, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.
"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."
"So?" she said.
"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."
She immediately fell silent. Her eyes were soft. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.
"Alright, you big stiff," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it is open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Wilmington?
"It's not Wilmington that I avoid. It's the Cove. And the reason is the local gendarmerie, one Vicky Mason, who has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Brunswick County caboose."
"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.
"Why do you dislike the Crystal Cove? It seems a perfectly pleasing place to me."
"Perfectly pleasing?" I said. "Perfectly pleasing is it?" You may notice a touch of annoyance, possibly some indignation, in my reply. I noticed it and, having done so, I thought better of it. This Wonder, who has done so much for me, deserves the softer touch and so I modified the tone.
"Yes," I said. "You no doubt look around the premises at all the luxuries--manicured landscaping, river frontage, a plethora of inviting outdoor activities--and you might reasonably think that life is ideal in Crystal Cove."
I paused for a few seconds. Not sure why. It may be that I'd forgotten where I was headed with that line of dialog. Or perhaps after mentioning a few items in the pro category, I was reluctant to begin listing the cons.
"However," I said, "Though every prospect pleases...."
"What about it?" she said. "Though every prospect pleases--what?"
"Oh, well, I'm not sure. It's something I heard once and it impressed me considerably. I like to throw it into conversation every now and then to add a little whatsit."
"I wish you wouldn't," she said. "Every time you throw quotes around, I waste time trying to make sense of them, and it's annoying."
"Are they supposed to make sense?" I asked. "Quotes I mean? Everyone quotes Shakespeare and his lines were nonsense when he wrote them."
"What! I can't believe you just said that. And you're supposed to be a writer too."
"I'm not just supposed to be a writer. I am a writer," I said with no little energy. "And you can't deny that Shakespeare was in the habit of shoving anything that came to mind into those plays."
She looked at me with large eyes and...no. What is it? Incredulous. That's it. She gave me an incredulous stare.
She opened her mouth to say something but the words didn't come and so I continued, not that I had anything more to add really, I just wanted to fill up the empty space.
"You might also consider the poet, Keats," I said. He speaks of stout Cortez staring at the Pacific and all his men looking at each other with a wild surmise, blah, blah, blah."
"So?" she said.
"Well, it wasn't Cortez, was it? Balboa was the bird that first stared at the Pacific."
She immediately fell silent. Her eyes were soft. I could tell that she was musing over my words. It made me feel better immediately. It always makes me feel better to think that she's considering my words.
"Alright, you big stiff," she said. "You're right about Balboa, But it's a big ocean and it is open to being stared at, so I see no reason why Cortez may not have given it a goggle too. Now, that's out of the way, answer my first question. Why do you avoid Wilmington?
"It's not Wilmington that I avoid. It's the Cove. And the reason is the local gendarmerie, one Vicky Mason, who has sworn to sign me up for an extended stay in the Brunswick County caboose."
"Really? For what exactly?" she asked.
"It's something to do with an unfortunate accident that occurred just before last year's winter solstice. She has hard suspicions, but no matching evidence, and so she sneaks around watching everything I do with an eye to catching me bending."
"Why she can't let the dead past lie I can't imagine. Just because I was in town when the fishing guides dormitory burned, what of it? It's not like I haven't explained to her that it was not my fault. More than once, I've pointed out that I didn't have a lot of time to consider options. I simply had no other choice. Burning the place down was the only way I think for hiding the evidence. Get over it, Vickie!"
I waited to hear Ms Wonder's response. I'm still waiting. I'll let you know.
I waited to hear Ms Wonder's response. I'm still waiting. I'll let you know.